A Non-Bender in Republic City
by kuchee
Summary: You remember how you felt when you were younger. Always trying to catch a glimpse of someone bending, wherever you could, dreaming and wishing you could do the same, too. Like it was the coolest thing in the whole world. (Oneshot, OC).


**This is a re-post of a fic that I wrote I think 4 years ago? I thought it was lost to the ages but I remembered it cleaning out my documents and polished it up! I kind of wanted to look at what about daily life in Republic City might nudge a regular person (like without an intense backstory) towards anti-bending sentiment.**

* * *

The first time you see someone like _you _bend in real life, it's the _coolest thing ever._

You've seen bending before, of course; the performers on the streets turning stones into ornaments to sell when you go out with your mother in the markets; the agile movements of a pro firebender frozen still on a picture in the sports section of the newspaper your dad brings home every day. The memory is a little fuzzy now, but once when you were barely three, a waterbending healer at the hospital fixed your broken arm. You were so mesmerised by the little bubble of water that seemed to circle itself around your arm, you forgot to fuss and cry for a whole six minutes, to the relief of your parents and the healer.

But bending itself was… different. It was always something far away, one-off occurrences, something firmly in the domain of people who weren't like you anyway. Just folks who you saw once or twice, pro-bending champions on posters or scruffy kids that you knew, even at five years old, you weren't supposed to mix with anyway for the fear that they might be tangled up in gangs. The ability to bend wasn't _real_ like your daily life was real - not in a tangible, normal way. It was simply an impossibly awesome skill exercised by a few adults you didn't know.

This is different.

The evening air is stuffy with late summer heat and that strange smog that always seems to hang in this part of the city. (You know there are some places where it's not like this at all - the houses next to the City Park you went to with your mother once, on one of her deliveries. The air in your lungs so cool and fresh that you begged her to stay there the whole afternoon, until the sun glowed pink over the edge of the river and the two of you sat on its bank, admiring the rare view.)

You've been _here_ since late morning. It's some cousin's uncle's daughter's wedding that your parents dragged you to, delighted that apparently you _do_ have some family here in Republic City. You aren't old enough to remember anyone except your parents, you were only a few months old moving into the city. The lanterns above are too hot and the fabric of your mother's dress underneath you is itchy and irritating, nothing like the feeling of the shirts she usually wears, softened by everyday wear. You twitch uncomfortably. You're too hot and annoyed and fidgeting, and you couldn't care less about some stupid wedding.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, a clump of dirt shoots right from the ground next to your chair leg. Your eyes swivel around to the tables to your left, looking for the source.

"_Honey!_ _What_ have I told you about earthbending out in public?" A tall woman at the next table is leaning over, admonishing a tiny girl sulking by her waist.

"Ugh... I'm _sorry_, mom…you know I can't control it…" the girl mutters, throwing down a handful of dirt, her long braid swishing with the movement. Your eyes catch glimpse of a silvery ribbon woven through it.

She slumps down into the chair next to her mother's, and you're sure that the sullen expression on her face has to be an exact mirror of yours. She can't be any older than you are.

The mother just shakes her head and murmurs absently to herself. "Oh, I keep forgetting. We'll have to enrol you somewhere… get you a bending master before you turn the house upside down…"

A beaming woman, face protruding from a heap of garish gold cloths, rushes up to the table, gasping. "_Meng?_ Is that you? It's been so long!"

The girl's mother is soon dragged away by her, their arms around each other, obviously greeting a long lost friend.

Quick to take advantage of her mother's attention finally elsewhere, the girl scuttles away under the table. You can see her scouring clumps of dirt into her palm. With her brows furrowed in concentration, she moves her palm slowly and jerkily. You realise that she is making shapes out of the dirt; a snake, then a leaf, followed by a flower – crude, unpractised sculptures, but sculptures nonetheless.

As you watch her between the tablecloths, she crumples up the flower, and starts again, sucking her teeth in, flicking dirt away from her vision. She doesn't look bored _at all_. You huff again and return to picking at the sequins on your sleeve.

* * *

Your dad's voice carries through the kitchen into the cramped hallway when you get up in the middle of the night for water. The door is always left ajar to let the air circulate while the temperamental cooker is on. Not much in this house works properly; you wish your parents would hurry up and replace some things. You're in the city after all.

"_-come on, sweetie, we've got just enough._"

A long sigh - your mother. "_I know, I know - I'm just worried. We'll need new coats and things for the winter soon and Li already cut my hours-"_

"_Her birthday's next month, it can be for both occasions._"

You frown. For the last few days your parents have been whispering in hushed tones to each other about _something_ – yet they always seem to stop and brush it off when they see you. You wonder what this all this sneaking around could be about.

Just before your first day at school, your dad comes home from the factory with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Hey sweetheart, I've got a surprise for you."

He holds open the front door and you follow him outside, a shoulder on your hand guiding you left to the side of the house. Leaning against the brick, shining bright orange in the glow from the lantern above, is a _brand new _bicycle.

You whip your head back around, your eyes wide with disbelief.

Your dad crouches next to you, giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "You're all grown up now, going to school and all so, so we thought, why not?"

"Dad!"

"Think you can take the training wheels off by next month?" he challenges, ruffling your hair.

You squirm out of his grasp. "Next week!" you say, buzzing on your heels, struggling to hold in your excitement.

"You're on. Now, come on, let's go back inside and eat before your mom has to leave for work."

* * *

It's your third week at school. You are sitting on the rough carpet floor in a circle with the twenty other kids in your class. Your teacher, Miss Ling, is a tiny woman with giant round glasses and a pleasant air. She motions for everyone to gather around her chair. You scan the room before sitting down with Aiko, a chatty girl who you've sort of become friends with in the past couple of weeks.

"Alright, kids," Miss Ling calls to the class. "Does anybody have any ideas about what we could read today? I've got a couple of books here, but I'll let you pick, if anyone has something they would especially like."

"Oh! Can you read us the _Adventures of Avatar Aang_ again?" someone pipes up excitedly, to a round of collective groaning.

"Not _again_, Dao. We've read it like a gazillion times! I wanna read about Oma and Shu…" another girl says dreamily.

"Hey, what about Wang the Peddler?"

"_Nooooo._ That's boring."

"Well, I like it. I think it's kind of sweet."

"Yeah, I _guess,_ but there's no bending."

"Whatever, it doesn't matter. My brother read it to me and I love it."

Finally, after a lot of hustle and bustle, the class decides to read a book about Oma and Shu. You sit with your hands in against your chin, trying to concentrate on your teacher's sing-song voice, but you can't help but wonder what Dao said about Wang the Peddler…. a story without any bending at all? That _does _sound boring. You hadn't even thought of the possibility… how can a hero be any good if they can't bend? How is that even fun?

But still, you think about it. And you think, isn't that what _you'd_ be like, if you were the heroine? You wouldn't have any of those powers, no matter how much you might want to. No soaring in to save the day, or crushing some monster by throwing up the ground; no way to show the bad guys who's boss by wielding what you imagine is the unmistakable _power _of an element coursing under your fingerprints, ready to strike, save, protect.

After the class is over, you ask Miss Ling if you can borrow one of her books. Maybe, if she has any, a book about a non-bender? Yeah, an adventure story about a non-bender. She smiles, pleasantly surprised, probably like any teacher would be pleased by the thought of her children taking an interest in reading. The two of you dig through the boxes of picture books in the corner of the classroom. Among three boxes, you find six such books and she lets you borrow all of them.

* * *

Three months later, when your dad comes home from work, the rigid set of his shoulders as he walks in immediately tells you that something is wrong. Something big.

He shakes his head dejectedly at your mom as soon as their eyes meet, as if to confirm between them some thought that you don't know about.

You frown. "Dad? What's wrong?"

He slumps down on the edge of a chair across from yours, his face kind and apologetic. "I lost my job, sweetheart."

He briefly glances over at your mother, almost talking to her even though he's turned to you. "Remember the group of Earth Kingdom guys that came into work last week? New in town? Jin gave them our jobs. Costs him less, what with earthbending making the transport so much quicker."

He sighs. "He was sorry about it, I guess. I can't even say I blame him, the way he's been struggling at it the past year… a few less paychecks to hand out could do him good."

* * *

You've been at school for a couple of years now, and you decided a long time ago that you love it. Spending the whole day in the brightest and most spacious building you have ever been in, surrounded by other people who are actually your age. Not to mention the hours you get to spend being outside in the fresh air, playing games, skipping, chatting, running, or even just sitting and reading a book in the playground - you can't believe you finally get to be outside without a worry.

At home, Mom and Dad never let you play in the streets. _It's too dangerous_, Dad always says. There's always the risk of gangs around. Even in the little dilapidated park behind your row of houses where only a few neighbourhood kids, maybe a deer dog or two, hang out. _It's not worth risking the wrath of any bender triads…_

Just last week, your parents' regular fruit vendor was attacked, at the whim of a gang, some Trouble- or Triple-something triad. The week before, an old man from your street, threatened into giving his week's earnings to the fancy of a firebending thug. Before that, there were countless street vendors, orphans, unsuspecting workers who left their lives to come to Republic City for a better job, beggars; people who didn't have much to begin with anyway.

These things don't go unnoticed, of course. A few outcries here and there. Angry, resigned whispers between neighbours and co-workers and friends. You don't understand why.

What about the _police?_ Surely they can do something about it? You ask your mom about it one evening after dinner. She peers at you strangely, then sets her mug of tea down on the counter and presses her hands together.

"It's difficult…" she says. "See, people do try. Of course, the police come down here when something really bad happens. But, to tell you the truth, I think most of those council people think of us down in these slums as a lost cause."

"So it's not about bending?"

She recoils a little, like she didn't expect you to ask that.

"Oh, _no_, honey. Benders get hurt by those types of people just the same as we do. We're all on the same level, there's just some bad kinds of people who will hurt anyone. Don't think like that." She beckons you toward her, and you let her stroke your head, frowning in thought.

She starts again, "It's just that, well - even though there _are_ more of us, most police officers, business owners, councilmen and what have you, they're usually benders. So it's even harder for them to understand how… well, how helpless we are sometimes."

People keep talking. The attacks get worse, more frequent.

* * *

"_Oh, no! _Oh I'm sorry – I'm so, so sorry I didn't mean to-"

Aiko's blurry outline fusses around your arm. You try to blink around the wetness in your eyes. From somewhere near your elbow a sharp pain spikes up, quick as anything, and you barely have time to register why your skin is suddenly flaring.

"I need to - shit, I'm so sorry, let me get you some ice - do you want ice?" she asks frantically, her voice beginning to wobble.

You nod because it sounds like she was asking you a question, though you hardly hear it through the pain.

It's early summer, late afternoon, you and Aiko were just sitting on the school field. Chatting about your day. Who's going out with who, which homework is the hardest, what you want to do over the summer break. Then, as per your usual routine, you smugly asked her about that idiot Gao, from math class, the one she's been crushing on for what feels like a thousand years.

She tackles you. It's routine. You take that as your cue to yell as many things you can remember - stuff she said about _how pretty his hair looks _and _yeah, I know that he can't even add numbers together but, _and she's red in the face trying to shut you up and your ribs hurt from laughing and she goes to clamp her hand over your mouth and you twist away and you _scream _-

You were just playfighting one second, and the next -

You didn't even think about -

_We're all on the same level, _your mom had said years ago. Yet if your best friend who wouldn't hurt a bumble fly, without even trying, had that kind of power over you...

Had _always_ had that power, you realise shakily.

You blink profusely and stare at the splotchy burn on your arm. That's from being on the good side of a firebender_._ You wonder what happens to anyone on the bad side.

* * *

"Have you seen this?" Your dad comes in through the front door, waving today's newspaper around by way of greeting. He sets it down in front of you on the table where all your schoolwork is sprawled out. He has both yours and your mom's attention.

_SATO ESTATE ROBBERY TURNED GANG MURDER, _the headline reads in thick, black strokes.

Your dad picks at the grease on his arm and asks you to read it aloud. (He's always covered in weird smelling grime these days, the cleaning job at the power plant isn't for the weak-hearted.)

You put down your pen and pick up the newspaper. "_Last night, Yasuko Sato, wife of millionaire industrialist Hiroshi Sato perished in a fire in her home. Police have identified the fingerprints of two members of the notorious Agni Kai Triad. Following an investigation into the crime scene, officers believe Mrs Sato was the victim of a botched robbery turned arson. A vocal minority of non-bender rights activists, however, have a different idea."_

Huh. You look back up at your dad. He nods his head for you to continue.

"_Some citizens believe it was a deliberate act of violence initiated by the triad after an increasing amount of information reported to the police about gangs targeting and terrorising non-bender citizens in particular._

_One detective does not seem convinced by the Force's official story: 'I've had a bunch of those folks around the station this morning. They think it's a warning. Go after the most well-known non-bending family they can think of to teach them to shut up, blah blah. What'll happen if they don't stop turning the gangs in or something.' While the investigation is marked as closed, several commentators have already critiqued this decision. _

_Mr Sato, who survived unscathed along with his daughter, aged six and three domestic workers who were present, has yet to comment."_

You remember how you felt when you were younger. Always trying to catch a glimpse of someone bending, wherever you could, dreaming and wishing you could do the same, too. Like it was the coolest thing in the whole world.

You know better now. You know you wouldn't want to be like that. You've seen for every Aiko, how many vicious thugs there are. Maybe even more sadly, how many dismissive people there are.

You know now that bending isn't something to vie for, to envy. Seeing it up close these days-

Well, it probably means it's the last thing you'll see.

* * *

One day after school, Aiko abruptly decides she wants to go into the food market to find deep-fried squid. Apparently it's a delicacy her grandmother used to make for her as a kid, a long time ago; she got word that there are stalls in the centre of the slum that do them. You humour her, of course - since Gao broke her heart last week, it's the least you can do to keep her off the edge. You give your mom a practised excuse - you're going to her house to do a school project, as like do every week. She still doesn't want you in the streets, never mind the fact that you're going to be in _high school _in a few months.

When you arrive the market is deserted.

You peer around the stalls, into the buildings, before heading up to the main plaza, puzzled. Is it a bank holiday? Is there supposed to be a festival?

There are shouts and cheers, beckoning you, louder as you reach the centre. When you arrive, a small crowd surrounds the fountain. You jump to catch a glimpse. Someone is _up_ there, actually climbed up on the structure above where the water pools, but the bodies are too tall and gathered too densely for you to get a close view, and there's too much chatter here to understand more than snatches of the man's impassioned speech. Your eyes wander, trying to understand what's going on here. It doesn't look like a gang event - your senses are much too sharp not to notice when those things happen. You jump again in vain.

A tug on your wrist. Aiko. "Let's go," she says nervously, glancing at a young man next to her. He glares openly: she's declined virulently to taking a flyer from the stash in his arm.

You snatch one up quickly, scanning the image. A large red circle takes up the entire page - eye-catching not only for its colour. A bold black scrawl inside it.

_Equal. _

You look around the crowd, the man with a knowing but not unkind glint in his eyes, Aiko's flitting in frustration, before turning back to the flyer.

Your heart thumps. There's an address on the back.


End file.
